
Book -JlC-3£3L( 

Copyrights /9/A 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



DREAMS COME TRUE 

BY 
CHARLOTTE NATTINGER CUMMINS 






\°ll* 



Copyright 1910 

By 

Charlotte Nattinger Cummins 



'CI.A2U.U3 



I 



Dreams Come True 

KNOW that the songs I am bringing 
Were never writ by rule, 
For I learned all my singing 
In the wild birds' school. 

We had no music-master, 
Not even a fiddler's string; 

'Twas the linnet I copied after: 
She taught me how to sing. 

She sang her song at evening 
With all a bird's glad thrill, 

While I, a child believing, 
Mimicked her at will. 

I learned to love the grasses 
And every flower that grew; 

There were no fads nor classes 
For me to cater to. 

I never longed for the city, 
Like some poor rhymers do ; 

But kept on with my ditty — 
My audience, birds I knew. 

I had my dreams of glory, 

Morning, noon and night ; 
Many a wing for a story 

Was halted in its flight. 

Now beyond toil and fretting 
I'll bring my songs to you; 

With your love for a setting — 
My dreams have all come true. 



Page seven 



M 



A Song of Father 

Y father was a quiet man, 
Built on the very noblest plan, 
His life to God's best meanings ran. 

His days were full of sweet content, 
He always said just what he meant 
And never owed a man a cent. 

No one went empty from his door, 

He always said, "God would send more. 

Pie loved to help where hearts were sore. 

We children loved to see him come, 
Our hearts with tender love were dumb 
When we would hear him coming home. 

Now memory lends her sweetest grace 
As this poor simple song I trace : 
For strangers sit in that dear place. 

The birds sing there just as of yore, 
The rosebush climbs about the door, 
But father's face we'll see no more. 



Page eight 



E 



Our Little Part 

ET us start a good thought going, 
It may reach a hungry one, 
It may light without our knowing, 
A work for God be done. 

Some glad song with good intended 
May be wafted to its goal; 

Some glad word where love is blended 
May help a stranded soul. 

Walls may crumble in the making, 
Cities moulder with their dead; 

But a thought that starts souls waking 
Will live when life has fled. 

It will live when we are sleeping 
'Neath the daisies on the hill ; 

God the record will be keeping 
When our pulseless hands are still. 

Then let's keep on sowing, sowing, 

Doing our little part; 
We must keep on throwing, throwing, 

Some day a seed may start. 



Page nine 



c 



Beggar and Painter 

OME out, come out, the wild birds said, 
The eastern sky was gold and red, 
The earth was putting on her best, 
A robin circling round her nest; 
While I, a beggar, with new eyes 
Gazed all enraptured at the skies, 
Unmindful when my feet struck sod, 
The soul of me was fed by God. 

I heard the birds in all their glee, 
They sang their carolings to me. 
What, though I had an empty purse, 
I 'd heard of things, oh, so much worse ! 
Dishonor had not come to me ; 
From all such sinning I was free. 
Even pangs of hunger passed me by 
When I could see God paint the sky. 



Page ten 



w 



Motherhood 

HEN they brought the baby to me 

And held it for a kiss, 
How mother love thrilled through me, 

I said, "Thank God for this," 
The little tender clinging thing, 

Of my own life a part; 
I wondered how a child could bring 

Such joy to a mother's heart. 

The little tender clinging hands, 

That clung so to my own; 
While, mother-like, I made such plans 

When baby would be grown. 
The little nestling cheek of pink 

With its dear velvet touch 
Made me, a young wife, stop and think — 

For motherhood meant much. 

'Twas the happiest moment of my life — 

I say it now with pride — 
I had known both loves, of mother and wife, 

And I was satisfied. 
For a mother's heart is a wondrous thing, 

Thrilling at baby's cries; 
And that is why this tribute I bring — 

All mine have flown to the skies. 



Page eleven 



I 



My Little Lover 

HAVE a little lover, 

He's as handsome as can be, 
My face with kisses he'll cover 

As he leans upon my knee. 
He tells me how he loves me 

Twenty times a day. 
Why, he even tries to hug me 

When his Pa's away. 

He smiles at me so fondly 

With his kindly eyes of blue, 
My life is never lonely — 

He knows I love him, too. 
I never had a lover 

As fond and true as he. 
His love he cannot smother, 

He has so much for me. 

I want to keep him always, 

My little love so quaint. 
His head upon my lap he lays 

With a little sleepy plaint. 
He's now beside me kneeling, 

The little prayer's said, 
I smile with a thankful feeling 

When I get him tucked in bed. 



Page twelve 



A 



At Eventide 

T eventide the birds fly homeward, 

Back to the parent nest; 
So do I, like a weary bird, 
Long for those I love the best. 

Not for gilded palaces of art 

Or grand estate and place; 
But to a mother's waiting heart — 

I long to see her face. 

Back to the little humble cot 

Where I first saw the light ; 
It is the dearest, choicest spot, 

She waits for me tonight. 

Back to that place beside her knee, 

The little prayer said; 
The same fond love she gave to me 

When she tucked me into bed. 

Back to the love that never failed, 

It was ever there to shine, 
And even when misfortune assailed 

She loved me, all the time. 

Back to the beautiful dreams of youth 

Let me in fancy stray ; 
Where life was a beautiful gleam of truth, 

Where mother taught me to pray. 



Page thirteen 



s 



A Glad California Day 

UNSHINE gilding mountain and plain, 

Blue sky hanging over, 
A twittering wild bird's glad refrain, 

Poppies, grass and clover. 

The drowsy hum of busy bees, 
The cattle homeward lowing; 

The blossoms falling from the trees — 
Is this a Summer snowing? 

These are the things that make life glad 

Far from life's noisy center, 
With never a thought to sigh or be sad, 

Where only good can enter. 

This is the place to go and rest 

Leaving care behind you; 
Finding at last life's very best 

Where fashion cannot bind you. 

This is a glad California Day 

Perfect in its glory, 
Wooing from cares that make us gray, 

Back to Nature's story. 



Page fourteen 



True Joys 

TO forgive a wayward soul gone wrong, 
To help a weaker one grow strong, 
To do it all for love's sweet sake 
A very heaven of earth would make. 

To give some one a brighter day 
Because we happened to pass that way, 
To wipe the tear from Sorrow's eye — 
These are true joys you can't deny. 



J 



A Little Thought 

UST a little song to bring you, 
Just a little word to say, 

Just a little joy to fling you, 
As I pass your way. 

Nothing very grand or airy, 

Not one bit of art ; 
Just my song a little cheery, 

Bubbling from my heart. 



Page fifteen 



T 



God's Pastures 

HE loving sky is just as blue 
If my poor heart does ache, 

And I must hold to what is true, 
Keep on for love's sweet sake. 

The dear sunshine is just as gold, 

It shines on me to bless ; 
And I must to God's promises hold 

And never love him less. 

Hold on, though heavy storms arise 
And winds of trouble blow; 

There is a place that storm defies — 
'Tis where God's pastures grow. 



W 



Trifles 

E can dream of wealth and power, 
Have money to buy what we please, 

But these little things, hour by hour, 
Put a dear heart at its ease : 

A kind word given with feeling, 
The clasp of a friend in need, 

The best in two hearts revealing, 
Is what we love, indeed. 

A kindly glance of sympathy, 
A word from an absent friend 

Brings true delight to you and me, 
With blessings to the end. 



Page sixteen 



I 



A Picture 

KNEW she was his mother 
When they came into the car, 
He hurried so to kiss her, 
For she had come so far. 

I knew she was his mother 
By his kind, protecting care, 

And the way he smiled above her 
Made a picture then and there. 

He wrapped her furs around her, 
With a lingering caress, 

So glad that he had found her 
On the "Overland Express." 

He was six feet tall and over, 
A stalwart sun-browned man, 

He wasn't ashamed of mother — 
He taller grew, a span. 

It warmed my heart to thrilling, 
This love between the pair, 

And I found my eyes were filling 
At the picture they made there. 



Page seventeen 



A 



He Takes the Best 

BEAUTIFUL life has passed away, 

A dear loved one has gone. 
The angels would not let her stay 

Here, where all hearts she won. 

For all of us she had such love 

A large place it would fill. 
They needed her in Heaven above 

To make it more Heavenly still. 

She lived but to make others glad, 
In her heart there was no guile ; 

She ever gave the best she had, 
Made us happy all the while. 

She loved life, and everything 
With a love beyond compare, 

To every heart she seemed to bring 
Just what was needed there. 

It was so easy to love her 

This dear unselfish one, 
In Heaven they will discover 

The stars her crown has won. 

We cannot understand God's ways, 

We go at His behest, 
He leads us through such sad dark days 

And takes the very best. 

In Memoriam Lizzie Descalso. 



Page eighteen 



o 



One By One 

NE by one the cords are broken, 
One by one the dear ones gone ; 

One by one the good-byes spoken, 
Not one left of my own. 

One by one the burdens falling, 
One by one cares passed away, 

Hark ! I hear their voices calling, 
"Go now, child, and work today." 

Though the work I meet be humble, 
Though it be a narrow field, 

Trusting God I will not stumble — 
He can send abundant yield. 

He can help my message brighten 
Some hard life, to cheer and bless, 

So that somewhere it may lighten 
Some dear soul in its distress. 

He can bless the simple story, 
He can guide a song's glad way, 

He can crown with His bright glory 
All my little leaves of bay. 



Page nineteen 



o 



Mother s Faith 

H, for the faith my mother had, 
As firm and true and strong, 

The faith that made us children glad — 
Each day a trusting song. 

The trusting faith that first was mine 
Beside her dear, dear knee, 

Come near tonight, and round me shine 
Let me its radiance see. 

Come near with all the same glad ways 

That time can ne'er dispel; 
Give me the faith of mother's days — 

The trust she knew so well. 

For life is hard and days are long 
Without her sheltering care, 

And that is why I sing this song. 
Let me her faith still share. 



Page twenty 



T 



Outgrown 

HE rest that comes at evening 

When the day is at its close, 
And the heart forgets its grieving; 

Where there's none but God that knows. 

When the toils and cares are ended, 

For a little while at least, 
And the past in silence blended 

Lingers like a loving guest. 

Then we feel the magic glory 

Of a hope that's all our own, 
While our hearts thrill with the story 

Of a dream we've half outgrown. 



W 



Say Something Kind 

HEN speaking of your neighbor 

Try to say something kind; 
Give your words a loving flavor 

As they come from your mind. 

We have enough of sorrow 

To fight against at best; 
Then from some good thought borrow 

The glow that leaves a rest. 

If we would always do this 
We'd soon have Heaven here, 

We'd find what worthy living is 
And have no end of cheer. 



Page twenty-one 



The Linnet; In the Mountains 



Y 



OU may prize a dear canary 

Singing in a gilded cage, 
But it takes a linnet cheery, 

To all my song engage. 

She was such a wee, wee singer, 

She took me by surprise ; 
The joy of life was in her, 

She caught it from the skies. 

We crossed the hills together 

On many a pleasant day, 
And I'd often wonder whether 

That bird designed to stay. 

She'd sing and chirp at my table 

When I was making pies; 
Don't tell me "love's a fable;" 

It lives when all else dies. 

And the wild bees caught the glory 

Of that glad summer time, 
Buzzing the old, old story 

Of Love, the theme divine. 

Our songs made us acquainted, 

We knew each other well ; 
But the time she slipped off and mated, 

She wouldn't even tell. 

When she came to the door with her birdlings 

Her absence I understood. 
'Twas a lesson for busy worldlings 

That bird with her little brood. 



Pag-e twenty -two 



The Linnet continued 

I was thrilled with a gladsome feeling 

[ never had before, 
That mother her love revealing 

Outside my kitchen door. 

She stood there with the little things 

As proud as she could be; 
The feathers sprouting on their wiugs- 

The dear little linnets three. 

I threw- them crumbs from the table, 

They grew so very tame ; 
But, oh my ! what a babble 

As soon as daylight came. 

0, many an hour of laughter 
I've had with those dear things 

When they'd fly up to the rafter 
To try their tender wings. 

My days were brighter, better, 
Up in the mountains there, 

For that dear bird, God bless her! 
Would sing away my care. 

I'd love to live it over, 

Feel all the same glad thrills 

I felt for that singing rover 
In the dear California hills. 



Page t w e n t y - t h r e e 



w 



In Memoriam to G. W. C. 

Co. E. 104th Reg. III. Volunteers 

E laid him out in coat of blue, 
Hands folded on his breast; 

The truest heart I ever knew, 
And now he's gone to rest. 

Gone where peace and hope abound, 
Where joys eternal reign ; 

I know his rightful place he's found, 
I know he's passed all pain. 

With palsied foot and deafened ear 
No more he'll pause and wait. 

For loving angels will be near 
To help at Heaven's gate. 

I know that in the Father's sight 

His record will be clear, 
For it was always his delight 

With mates his mite to share. 

His heart was ever good and true, 
And he was always kind; 

The One who all his weakness knew 
Will palms of victory find. 



Page twenty-four 



H 



New Songs To Bring 

OUSEHOLD dears were many then 
When I worked and cared for them, 
Just like blossoms on a stem. 

They were dear and sweet and good, 
Loving mother as they should, — 
Such a happy little brood. 

Ah, those early years of bliss! 
How I love to think of this, — 
Children scrambling for a kiss. 

My nest still is on the bough 
But 'tis empty, empty now, — 
Silver threads are on my brow. 

All my birds have taken Aving, 
I'm too old, my dear, to sing. 
They will have new songs to bring 
When they come home in the spring. 



Page twenty-five 



T 



Mothers 

HIS world is full of mothers — 
They are not hard to find — 

Who are living their lives for others, 
Loving, thoughtful and kind. 

Their names are not heralded afar 

Upon the scroll of fame, 
They plod away on this little star — 

The love in their hearts aflame. 

Their happiness in the world of home, 
Their children call them "blest;" 

They never have a call to roam, 
They love the hearthstone best. 

I look at these homes on the hillside, 

Every one a shrine, 
My heart thrills with a gladsome pride, 

For one of these mothers is mine. 



Page twenty-six 



o 



A Tribute to Sorrow 

H, Sorrow, with thy grief and tears 

Don't leave me now, I pray, 
For thou hast been my friend for years — 

I want thee still to stay. 

Thou hast been here through storm and stress, 

Through battles fierce and long ; 
And now I love thee more, not less, 

For thee I sing this song. 

For thou hast taught me many things 

In thy dear ministry, 
Taught me whence all helping springs 

My Father's face to see. 

I know that my Redeemer lives, 

Thou hast shown me the way, 
How from His heart of love He gives 

His peace to crown the day. 

He guides the swallow in its flight, 

Why should He not guide me? 
Am I not greater in His sight 

Than it could ever be? 

I'm glad I know my Father's voice, 

It echoes down the years. 
He's saying now, rejoice, rejoice! 

Child, smile amid your tears. 



Page twenty-seven 



A Little Word of Praise 



A 



H, nothing such big interest pays, 
I don't care what you say, 
As once in a while a word of praise 
As we go down life's way. 

If you've a little wife at home, 
She may have the queerest ways, 

But don't forget it, when you come 
To bring a word of praise. 

The boy who studies hard at school, 

Altho he often plays, 
Oh, don't forget to keep this rule, 

Give him a word of praise. 

There's not a soul on this green earth 
But longs for love that stays ; 

It shows us what this life is worth 
When we hear a word of praise. 

Don't keep it bottled on a shelf, 
When it such interest pays, 

I own I love it well myself — 
A little word of praise. 



Page twenty-eight 



G 



Old Loves 

IVE me the prairies broad and wide, 

The touch of a free, glad breeze ; 
The waving grass where I used to hide, 

No joys were quite like these. 

The hazy clouds that stretch away, 

A cooing dove's sad tone, 
The laugh and shout of a happy day, 

The joys we all have known. 

The old orchard, where the fairies 

Came with their blossom chain; 
Oh, give me the glad prairies, 

"Would I were there again. 

The rippling swing of the growing corn 

Made music enough for me, 
Where oft I wandered at early morn 

This beauty to hear and see. 

Where the first song of the meadow-lark 

Was sung for me alone, 
And all the meadows were one great park, 

I joyed to be alone. 

Where strawberries grew in the same old place, 

Almost hidden from sight ; 
The winding paths for our bare-foot race, 

Where dust was our delight. 

The bird's nest hid in the waving grass, 

The old bird flying out; 
No matter how slyly we would pass, 

She knew we were about. 



Page twenty- nine 



Old Loves 



Continued 



Dear mother in her cap of lace, 
Her smile of welcome sweet, 

She'd make a home of any place, 
Her love made life complete. 

The little prayer at bedtime 

Repeated at her knee, 
Has left its glory, for my rhyme 

And brought my work to me. 

The faith and hope she taught us then 

Runs like a gleam along, 
And even now it guides my pen 

And makes my thought a song. 

This fond home-thought I cherish well, 
"Old Loves" my heart entwine, 

And lingering memory loves to tell 
My mother's God is mine. 



Page thirty 



E 



The Old Farm Gate 

ONESOME and sad it swings in the breeze, 

Rocked by the wind that blows through the trees; 
Many the children that swung on its side, 
Gone now the faces that loved so to hide. 
Rusty the hinges and moss-grown the post 
That once daily welcomed neighbor and host — 
While memory is busy, impatient of fate, 
The breezes are swinging the old farm gate. 

Visions of daisies and buttercups, too, 
Wreaths made of clover we picked in the dew, 
To hang on the gate, as it opened, you know, 
While father drove through with the load in the glow, 
As up o'er the manger we climbed to the mow. 
(Ah! nothing but memory comes to me now.) 
We'll fill it with blossoms before it's too late, 
The treasured old relic, the old farm gate. 

Often we children all mounted on top, 
Watched as we listened for Dobbin's old trot, 
While mother so softly would smile on us there 
With blessings unspoken, that filled all the air; 
Then Dobbin's old face we'd spy down the lane, 
And father would laugh, for he knew we would gain, 
As up we would scamper to meet him in state, 
All eager to open the old farm gate. 

Though years have passed on, it swings there yet ; 
I love that old gate, and cannot forget, 
And I often look back with moistened eye 
To the dear old days that are long gone by, 
And memory comes with her tender sheen 
Like rifts of gold in the darkness seen. 
With new-born hope I watch and wait. 
For the dear old faces at Heaven's gate. 



Page thirty -one 



The Woman With the Woe 



p 



ATIENT she works from day to day, 
Her heart bowed down with care, 

With scarcely a place to lay her head, 
Or a decent dress to wear. 

Children, perhaps, depending on her, 

Looking to her for bread, 
The burden of life upon her, 

The rascally husband fled. 

This picture I've made is a true one, 

Not one of us dare ignore ; 
The story is one that's never done, 

We see them today by the score. 

Leaving the wife with the burden, 
The question of life to solve, 

Ah, she is left to struggle then, 
As mothers will, who love. 

Talk of a woman's weakness, 

She is not weak at all ; 
See her there in her sweetness, 

Working for children small. 

With one foot on the cradle, she 
Keeps hunger from the door, 

Brave as a mother she will be 
Though her heart be ever so sore. 

Such stand at the helm of the nation 

Toiling from day to day — 
Calm keepers of poverty's station, 

Keeping the wolf at bay. 



Page thirty-two 



When It Comes Thanksgiving' 



i 



'M going to grandma's, across the bay,. 
To stay till after Thanksgiving Day; 
They live up there on the mountain side, 
Where all day long the roses ride. 

The dear little birds are ever so tame, 
They fly right up to the window-pane ; 
And oh! the pie my grandma makes — 
As soon as you touch the crust it breaks. 

She has apples and nuts up in the loft, 
She sleeps on a feather bed — my, it's soft! 
And she tucks the covers around me so 
She don't leave a bit of room to grow. 

Her hair is white, and she wears a cap ; 
Sometimes she stops to take a nap 
When she is tired, as she often is — 
Then I creep up and steal a kiss. 

She says I look just like Pa did 
When he was a little romping kid ; 
Then, somehow, a tear comes in her eye, 
While I shyly whisper, "You got any pie?" 

One day I went into her house 
As quiet and still as any mouse, 
I couldn't find grandma anywhere — 
I began to think she wasn 't there — 

When suddenly I heard her say, 
"God bless and keep him every day." 
And then I knew that she meant me — 
She was on her knees in the buttery. 



Page thirty-three 



When It Comes Thanksgiving' 

I tell you what, it touched me then 
To hear her praying for me, when — 
She thought I didn't hear or know, 
I slipped out again on tiptoe. 

Now, do you wonder I love her, 
Such a dear, darling grandmother — 
One who tells God all about you, 
And loves you, whate'er you do? 

I pity the boy who has no grandma, 
Nor fun-loving, tender old grandpa; 
They miss half the fun o' living, 
Especially when it comes Thanksgiving. 



Continued 



Better Things 



B 



ETTER some dust on the pane, 

Better a kind word spoken, 
Better, far better than dust on the brain, 

Or a promise rudely broken. 

Better to give the living now 

A flower in their sorrow, 
Better than placing it on death's brow 

At the funeral tomorrow. 

Better a crust where love is king 
Than a feast where there is hate ; 

For peace is the dearest, brightest thing 
That comes where true hearts wait. 

Better to help with the heavy load 

The traveler by your side, 
Than to ride indifferent down the road 

Wrapped up in selfish pride. 



thirty-four 



c 



Paint Me a Picture 

OME, paint me a picture, will you, 

To hang on memory's wall? 
And make it glow with colors true, 

As the shadows rise and fall. 

Come, paint it in colors golden, 
'Mid sprigs of blossoming vine, 

That thrill as we wait to behold them 
Like waves of glory shine. 

Come, paint my sainted mother 
With the same old tender smile, 

The beautiful sky above her, 
The meadow-grass and the stile. 

Put me in the picture, too, sir, 

A barefooted boy of ten, 
As watching the glory about her, 

The beauty came to me then. 

Yes, she sat on the stile — 'twas broken — 

And I beside her, too, 
While the love beneath us, unspoken, 

Thrilled my heart through and through. 

Oh! don't forget the sunset, 

In the hallowed Sabbath glow — 

Show the bands of silver where they met 
O'er her brow as pure as snow, 

And the look of love and waiting, 

As she drinks the beauty in, 
While the Sabbath chimes are waking 

Thoughts tuned to Christ, her King. 



Page thirty -five 



Paint Me a Picture continued 

And the raptured love and devotion 

Upon her upturned face — 
Just put in more emotion, 

And give that curve a trace. 

Just mingle the blue with the gold, sir, 
Where the lengthening shadows meet, 

While the summer breezes gently stir 
The grasses about her feet. 

There, now, the picture's completed; 

I feel the holy hush, 
For my hungry heart has feasted 

On scenes I love so much. 



T^ 



The Kind of Love That Stays 

WO hearts, both true to each other, 

Life full of happy days, 
A devoted father and mother, 

The kind of love that stays. 

Two lives keeping step together, 

Beautiful in God's sight, 
No matter how fares the weather 

Their love a stream of delight. 

Two minds expanding and growing 

In peace to always abide, 
No other joy on earth knowing 

Ordy to be side by side. 

Two starting out with God's blessing, 

Two hearts beating as one, 
Two lives, true love possessing 

Till all life's journey's done. 



Page thirty-six 



E 



Little Boy Mine 

ITTLE boy mine, with your eyes of blue, 
Come kiss me again, as you used to do; 
Come press your tender cheek to mine, 
Let the old love-light around me shine 
Like the sunlit glory of early morn 
Circling a tree storm-beaten and worn. 

Little boy mine, with your winsome ways 
That haunt me, haunt me nights and days, 
I have waited so long in the twilight here 
For the sound of your footsteps coming near ; 
And all day long I've scanned the lane 
For the boy I love to come again. 

Little boy mine, long years ago 
You left me (ah, I loved you so!) 
And wandered away to lands unknown. 
Perhaps my love you have outgrown; 
But, oh, my boy, if you know my heart, 
Nothing a mother's love can part! 

Little boy mine, I am growing old; 
The years of my life will soon be told. 
Oh, will you not come to cheer my life? 
I have grown so weary in the strife, 
And smooth the way for my tired feet — 
You can make my closing days so sweet ! 



Page thirty-seven 



Little Boy Mine 



Continued 



Little boy mine, you have older grown — 
Tis long since you from the nest have flown; 
Though another calls you "all her joy," 
Just come once more, my boy, my boy, 
And hold me to your heart again! 
I know 'twill ease this ache and pain. 

Little boy mine, shall I plead in vain? 
Will he ever come, on boat or train? 
Hark ! that must be his step I hear — 
That tone's familiar to my ear. 
I have not prayed in vain for this, 
My boy is here, I feel his kiss. 

Though the way grows dark as Heaven draws near, 

I can see my boy, I know he's here; 

Though his face is bronzed, and bearded, too, 

I can see the love-light shining through, 

And the same old look in the loving eyes 

That will go with me to Paradise. 



Page thirty-eight 



T 



Which Was the Bravest? 

ODAY we carried the sweet spring flowers 

To cover our noble dead, 
While softly o'er these hearts of ours 

A touch of Heaven was shed. 

Our thoughts went back to that sad time 

When war was in the air, 
When thoughts of Mason's and Dixon's line 

Brought fear to maidens fair. 

When men were drafted right and left 

All over this fair land; 
When women's hearts were sore bereft — 

To "March" was the command. 

Methinks I see before me now 

A young wife brave and good 
She said, "John, you must leave the plow, 

I'd go, too, if I could." 

He loved her well, his country, too, 
And said, "What will you do?" 

She answered, "God will help me through, 
Our country now needs you. ' ' 

His name enrolled among the brave 

He donned the coat of blue. 
He said he'd die his Land to save, 

To Columbia he'd be true. 

The good wife smiled and said, "God speed," 

And watched him march away 
While she had scarcely bread to feed 

Her children through the day. 



Page thirty- nine 



Which Was the Bravest? continued 

But she kept up a brave, true heart 

All through the cruel war; 
She washed and worked tho the tears would start, 

And trusted God the more. 

While on the Lord her burdens laid — 
Her hands were rough and brown — 

She said, "The shot was never made 
To strike her husband down." 

While mothers and sisters wailed with grief, 

She calmly read of the dying; 
In her work and children she found relief 

While the months and years were flying. 

And John came home without a scratch, 

Just as she said he would, 
And love and happiness lifted the latch; 

The future held but good. 

Though today her hair is white as snow 

Her smile is just as sweet 
As when she told her all to go 

The rebel foes to meet. 

Grandchildren hang about her knee 

And older ones kiss her cheek, 
And we are all so glad to see 

How God can bless and keep. 

And the question softly comes to me 

As I end this simple rhyme: 
Which of the two will hero be 

When the bells of Heaven chime? 



Page forty 



I 



Written for Me 

WAS tired and weary of living, 
So heavy had grown my load; 
Rebellious, too, in my grieving, 
No beauty around me glowed. 

My heart ached nigh to breaking, 

I chafed beneath the rod ; 
While doubt and grief were slowly taking 

My faith away from God. 

When I picked up an old torn paper, 

Yellow and dim with age, 
I halted a moment from labor 

To glance at the corner page. 

And there I found a few verses 
That touched my stubborn heart, 

About trouble and life's reverses; 
I felt the teardrops start. 

The writer had known earth's losses, 

Had felt the touch of woe ; 
But she sang in the midst of crosses, 

"Suffering makes me grow." 

I read it over and over, 

My load began to lift, 
While a light that was like no other 

Fell on me like a rift. 

And I smiled serene at the baby 
As she stood beside my knee : 

Mentally thanking the lady 

Who had written those words for me. 



Page forty-one 



H 



Where Love Was True 

OW I love to dream them over 
The glad years of the past ; 

When we were home with mother 
Where love lived till the last. 

When we were wee, wee children, 
And hung about her knee ; 

How many times she told us then 
To choose good company. 

She was just the dearest mother 
That ever childhood knew; 

She taught us to love each other 
And to ourselves be true. 

I can hear her voice at evening 
Calling softly up the stairs : 

"Now girls, do be forgiving, 

Don't forget to say your prayers." 

No beggar ever long halted 
Or knocked at mother's door, 

But she gave him bread, 'twas salted 
From out her humble store. 

She loved the God she believed in, 
And we all loved Him, too ; 

She made the home we lived in 
The place "where love was true." 



Page forty-two 



o 



A Woman s Way 

THE din of pots and kettles, 

The rush of the hurrying broom, 
The clatter of saucepans and griddles — 
I 'm sick of the homely tune ! 

It's rise in the morning at five 
To hurry a breakfast for six, 

Thankful that I'm alive 
And able the bread to mix. 

Then put up lunches snug and fast 
For father and Ned and Bill ; 

Then the little ones clamor for breakfast, 
Three little stomachs to fill. 

I'd like to glance at the paper, 
But I haven't a moment's time, 

Not even to chat with a neighbor 
Or to read the latest rhyme. 

I often feel so weary 

I'd like to close my eyes, 
Then I look at my babies cheery, 

And crush the thoughts that rise. 

So thankful that I'm given 

Those little ones to guide, 
To train their feet for Heaven, 

At home here, by my side. 



Page forty -three 



A Woman s Way continued 

I must count the blessings falling 

Around me all the time, 
Then the pots and kettles in calling 

Will sing a merrier chime. 

I feel I have a kingdom 

Right by me, here at home : 

May I be bright to welcome them 
When home from school they come. 

May I ever have the patient grace 
That comes from the Father above, 

And show them by my happy face 
The keynote of life is — love. 



A Little Sermon on Temperance 



i 



'M a moderate drinker," he said, 
As he passed the drunkard's side. 

" To be like him I'd rather be dead." 
The distance between them was wide. 

But time went on and the habit grew 
On the moderate man of pride, 

Till at last it was all that he could do 
From friends the truth to hide. 

And soon the monster had him down, 
Body, soul and strength and will; 

He was the biggest drunkard in town 
Slain by the worm of the still. 



Page forty-four 



E 



The Borrowing Browns 

VER hear of the borrowing Browns? 
Their girls who wear such lavish gowns; 
They put on style enough to kill, 
And one of them 's after my boy Bill. 

What would he do with such a wife? 
She'd be the torment of his life, 
Spending far more than he could earn; 
The money in her hands would burn. 

But this is not what I want to say, 
From my first thought I've gone astray; 
About their borrowing I want to tell, 
If they don't quit we'll have to sell. 

One day it's coffee and tea and spice, 
The next it's sugar and starch and rice, 
A bar of soap with a pinch of blue, 
A bit of salt to put in the stew. 

They borrowed my scissors and broke the blade, 
And now they are using my brand new spade. 
I wonder what they will borrow next? 
It's enough to make a preacher vexed. 

Their pantry's as empty as can be, 

And when they run short they send to me; 

I've grown so tired of keeping it up 

I'd like to smash their old teacup. 



Page forty-five 



The Borrowing' Browns continued 

They send for the paper before we're through, 
And sometimes I let them have it, too. 
When father comes to his easychair 
His favorite paper is not there. 

But when they came to borrow my hat 
I said, "No, no!" the cheek of that! 
The climax was the fine-tooth comb, 
Now to these Browns "I'm not at home." 



F 



A Poet's Consolation 

ARMER JONES may own the land, 

What is that to me? 
I can see from where I stand 

More, perhaps, than he. 

He may have a house and barn 

Built on the latest plan ; 
But I can see a verse or yarn 

In thing's he never can. 

He may drive in his coach and four 

Along the country road; 
But I know I enjoy life more, 

And carry less of a load. 

I can hear the wild birds sing 
Up and down life's lane. 

I find some joy in everything — 
Even in this refrain. 



Page forty-six 



s 



Poor Little Sue 

HE was the brightest pupil there, 
She always knew the rule, 

She only had one dress to wear, 
And that she wore to school. 

On Saturdays she'd wash it clean, 

And wear her petticoat, 
She washing, sandwiched in between 

Some collars for her throat. 

Her dress was a blue calico, 
It cost "two bits" a yard, 

And even now my tears will flow 
When I think of her life so hard. 

Just think of having but one dress, 
And then to keep it clean; 

No one but God knew the distress 
That dear girl tried to screen. 

The teacher put me next above her, 

Both of us in one seat, 
And that is how I came to love her, 

Poor little Sue, so sweet. 

At noontime she would slip away 

To eat her lonely lunch. 
She'd never have a word to say, 

She'd never join the bunch. 



Page forty-seven 



Poor Little Sue continued 

Each day a package she would bring, 

Five or six inches square, 
Tied up so neatly with a string, 

A speck of grease nowhere. 

I watched one day and found what she 
Had in the lunch pack there — 

Four little blocks, smooth as could be, 
Like pieces of bread cut square. 

She brought no lunch, but made believe — 

My poor, proud little Sue. 
My heart ached so I couldn't conceive 

What the very poor must do. 

I told the girls and teacher, too, 
And our hearts were opened wide, 

And all to that poor girl were true, 
Our love we could not hide. 

We each brought more than we could eat 

And made her join the bunch, 
We voted her the highest seat 

When we took noonday lunch. 



Page forty-eight 



w 



Memories of Childhood 

HEN we were young, and children small, 
A happy home just held us all ; 
The place where peace had ever dwelt, 
Where oft at mother's knee we knelt. 

The rose-tree climbed about the door; 
The buzzing bee came oft for store ; 
There mother's face shone all the day, 
A holy light upon life's way. 

The pansies grew, so thick indeed, 
There was no place for grass or weed; 
And mignonette in clusters, too, 
Bloomed humbly there the summer through. 

And buttercups, with golden sheen, 
And hyacinths filled the nooks between ; 
Old-fashioned pinks, all laden low, 
Bloomed softly, too, all in a row. 

There every spring the swallow came 
And built her nest in place the same. 
'Twas made of mud and sticks and string— 
A fitting home for birds in spring. 

The grapevine, trailing in and out, 
Shared every trick we were about, 
And while it grew up towards the sky 
"We played keep house, and made mud pie. 



Page forty-nine 



Memories of Childhood continued 

The old settee, all painted green — 
How many memories round it lean, 
As on the porch, so broad and wide, 
It stood, by summer and winter tried. 

Out in the barn, to rafters tied, 
The swing hung down for us to ride ; 
And, sometimes, out we'd fall, and bump 
Our heads and faces — ' ' Oh, the lump ! ' ' 

Sometimes we'd climb up in the mow, 
So full of hay we'd wonder how 
The hens could hide their nests away, 
While we played all the livelong day. 

Now mother's gone, and father, too; 
Scattered the loved ones, tried and true, 
Some in the churchyard and some in the West; 
Deserted and empty, the dear home nest! 

In fancy I see them, in snowy white, 
Beckoning me to come tonight ; 
And when my work down here is done 
I'll meet and greet them every one. 



Page fifty 



F 



Thy Way Is Best 

ATHER, I know 'tis best for me 

This cup that Thou dost send; 
I may not all Thy meaning see 

As up life's hill I wend; 
And yet I know that 'neath this woe 

The struggling roots of flowers grow, 
And, when perfected by Thy grace, 

They'll bloom in many a sunny place. 

How often have I turned away 

From all these bitter things 
E'en hoping for a brighter day, 

Wishing my roses had less stings ; 
And when the thorn that pierced my flesh 

Was turned by Thee to a caress 
I smiled and sang my sweetest song 

For lo, behold ! the thorn was gone. 

And so I've come Thy way to know 

Familiar, like a path well worn; 
And when dark clouds loom high or low 

I rest content amidst the storm; 
Yea, though my sky be overcast, 

I know the blue will come at last, 
And I can trust when I cannot see ; 

For I know Thy way is best for me. 



Page fifty-one 



I 



Cheerfulness 

N a work-a-day world like this, 
Where things go booming along, 

We are just as young as the heart is ; 
And this shall be my song. 

We can cry from now till doomsday, 
And frown till the wrinkles come, 

But the dearest thing on earth, I say, 
Is a cheerful heart at home. 

Cheerfulness puts the "growls" to flight, 

No matter where or when, 
When there are cheerful hearts in sight, 

Whether three score or ten. 

The children know when they see it 

Around the family hearth; 
Then let's live for cheer, and be it 

It's the dearest thing on earth. 



Page fifty-two 



A 



A Little Gleam 

LARGE frame. house with comfort filled 
Between the prairie and the wood, 

Where young birds ' songs in passion thrilled 
And we found every good. 

Dear mother waiting at the door, 

The queen of all the place, 
The smile her dear face ever wore 

Bordered in finest lace. 

The cherry trees we planted there, 

My little sister and I, 
Flung out their blossoms sweet and rare 

Beneath a loving sky. 

There every spring the swallows come 

With all their chattering glee, 
And built their nests the very same 

In gable, bush and lea. 

A grassy lane, off the main road, 

With one big poplar tree, 
Where Pa oft halted with his load, 

We children there would be. 

The rows of corn we used to drop — 
How long they grew some days ! 

While I helped father with the crop 
I'd sandwich in my lays. 

Oh, those were happy days, dear, then, 
When life flowed like a dream, 

This picture I've made with my pen 
Is but a little gleam. 



Page fifty-three 



N 



The Empty Nest 

one but God will ever know 
How hard it was to let him go ; 
The last, last birdling in the nest — 
It may be, God knows, for the best. 

1 try to be brave and smile through tears, 
But when I think of the lonesome years — 
The tears well fast till my eyes are dim, 
For, in all the world, I had but him. 

How often in childhood he knelt by me, 
His blue eyes full of sympathy, 
Telling me how he loved me so, 
That never from my side he 'd go. 

Now another calls him all her own — 
I sit here alone, alone, alone! 
And the heart aches so in my poor breast- 
A mother alone with her empty nest. 



Page fifty -four 



N 



The Secret of Happiness 

OT till we've begun to live for others 

Do the sweets of life appear; 
When refining fire burns the dross it covers 

Then the best of life is near. 

When we've solved the living problem 
That our Heavenly Father planned, 

Then we '11 gladly help our f ellowmen 
With loving, outstretched hand. 

And we all will grow wiser and better 

Each day as we truly live, 
And the old false ring will not fetter, 

For the true-hearted freely give. 

And we'll find in the joy of living 

A paradise below; 
We'll thrive all the better by giving 

And reap just what we sow. 



Page fifty-five 



I 



/ Love to Remember 

LOVE to remember mother 
Of all life's memory best, 

Her love for us like no other 
Made home a place of rest. 

I love to remember the beauty 
That shone on her patient face, 

As she told us, "The path of duty 
Was ever the dearest place." 

I love to remember the prayer 
Lisped at her tired knee ; 

The good that we ever found there 
Will live through eternity. 

I love to remember the blessing, 
The dear voice low and sweet, 

The kiss and the dear caressing 
That welcomed our coming feet. 

Oh, I know I'll remember forever 
The place she made so dear, 

And I'll never forget, no, never, 
How she ruled by love, not fear. 



Page fifty-six 



The Answered Prayer 



i 



N the light of a western gleaming 

A mother waits for her son, 
Tis of him alone she is dreaming 

As the lengthening shadows run. 

On her face are traces of sorrow 

And lines of weary care ; 
"Perhaps, he will come tomorrow," 

Is mingled with her prayer. 

The days of his happy childhood 

Pass fair before her eyes, 
When he was innocent, true and good, 

When she hushed his childish cries. 

Long years ago he left her 

To face the world's keen blast; 

No good-bye was spoken to mother — 
He ran away at last. 

But she's kept the light in the window 
Thru all these weary years. 

How often it streamed o 'er the meadow 
As she softly wiped her tears. 

But her face is calm this evening 

As, with Bible on her knee, 
She forgets the pain and grieving 

God's love wells up so free. 

She has caught a glimpse of the glory 
That trusting always brings, 

For the Risen Christ and his story 
Have touched the hidden springs. 



Page fifty-seven 



The Answered Prayer continued 

She had often heard old Rover 
As he barked in the meadow lone, 

But tonight, somehow or other, 
Her heart felt less of pain. 

Yet, listen ! yes, 'tis something — 
She hears a step without — 

A familiar voice is chiding : — 
"Now, Rover, you get out." 

A knock, and the latch is lifted — 

A bearded man — 'tis him! 
He looks so fine and gifted, 

Can that be her dear boy Jim? 

Strong arms are reached to hold her, 

His kiss is on her cheek, 
"Thank God you're living, mother!" 

How her old heart does leap. 

"For I've come home to care for you, 

And love you, as I ought; 
Forgive me, mother, can you, 

For the sorrow I have wrought?" 

And the angels smiled with gladness 
At the beautiful picture there ; 

Her face lost all its sadness, 
For God had answered prayer. 



Page fifty-eight 



I 



The Homesick Farmer 

'M so weary of the city, 

Its fashion and its noise; 
The people here I pity, 

I long for country joys. 

''Give me the life that's simple, 
Old-fashioned, if you please, 

The curve of an honest dimple, 
My every-day clothes and ease. 

"I came to please my daughter Bess, 

To visit her a spell; 
But I've stayed long enough, I guess- 

I don't feel very well. 

"Dear Bess is kind as she can be, 
She does the best she can; 

This life would never do for me — 
I'm but a farmer-man. 

"My coat is far too snug a fit, 
My collar chokes me quite, 

This necktie, I'm not used to it, 
My shoes don't feel just right. 

"It's harder work than makin' hay 
Or watchin' 'taters grow 

To keep yourself dressed up all day, 
Just so's to make a show. 

"To smile and bow and simper 
Just for the sake of style, 

Would make an idiot whimper 
If he tried it all the while. 



Page fifty- nine 



The Homesick Farmer continued 

"I'm homesick for the mellow light 

Of sunset on the farm ; 
The clover blossoms pure and white 

That hold me with their charm. 

"Oh, waving grass and fields of grain, 

Ye beckon me to come ! 
I'll know no longing, know no pain 

When once in sight of home. 

"I guess I'll start right off today — 

I must be homesick, sure ; 
I'll not feel well till on the way — 

There is no other cure." 



Page sixty 



s 



Bessie 

LOWLY the cow-bells jingle 

Along the grassy lane, 
While distant noises mingle 

With scent of new mown grain. 

The crimson glory from the West 
Floods sky and field and plain, 

A belated robin from the nest 
Is flying home again. 

The lowing kine impatient 
Wait at the farm-yard gate; 

And father, on his work intent, 
Says, "Milkin's rather late." 

"I'm hungry, too, I want to sup; 

The cows have waited long. 
Now hurry, wash the dishes up, 

You dream too much, it's wrong. 

But Bessie gazes at the sky, 
Forgetful of where she is; 

The maiden has a poet's eye 
For just such scenes as this. 

Slowly she drags herself to work, 
Hiding the tears that come, 

Wishing she could only shirk 
Or else be blind and dumb. 



Page sixty-one 



A 



An Old- Fashioned Memory 

H, they pass like the breeze o'er the clover 
The pictures that memory leaves. 

Though I've traveled this wild world over, 
They're the sweetest that fancy weaves. 



The cottage, the woodland, the sheep in the meadow, 

The sun slanting low in the west; 
The porch and its woodbine, the slow climbing shadow 

So calm with its hallow of rest. 

The orchard, the laugh, the chat in the twilight, 

The first kiss — and afterwards two — 
The cows and the bars, the starlit night, 

The fairest I ever knew. 

The cellar, the milk pans, the sound of the strainer, 

What memory was ever more sweet? 
The smile, and the blush, no admission was plainer 

While shyly our hands would meet. 

The long cozy talks by the old front gate ; 

The moon almost hid by the trees, 
Her mother's soft whisper, "It's getting late," 

The lingering clasp and squeeze. 

But why I should think of all this tonight 

I'm sure I never can tell, 
Unless it's because her sweet face, as I write, 

Holds for me the same old spell. 



Page sixty-two 



The Christmas Turkey (A Fact) 



o 



LD Green was a merry cobbler 

Pegging all day with a will. 
He had his eyes on a gobbler 

Seven wee girls' stomachs to fill. 

But I heard some news this morning — 

They had another one, 
And he was raving and storming 

Because it wasn't a son. 

But I could hardly blame him — 

Eight girls all in a string. 
Ah, one little boy could tame him 

With all that love could bring. 

He never looked at the darling — 
The little red shivering mite — 

He just went around and was snarling- 
They all kept out of his sight. 

The little tots hid in the corner 

Whenever he'd come in, 
The house was like when the mourners 

Are begging because of sin. 

But mother was resting easy 
(She'd had the same old smile), 

While dear, darling sister Lizzie 
Said, "He'll quit after a while." 



Page sixty-three 



The Christmas Turkey (A Fact) continued 

He declared he 'd give up the turkey 

Because it wasn't a boy, 
But they noticed his eyes grew murky ; 

From his pocket, he drew a toy. 

Ma said, "Pork and beans would do 

For us this Christmas year." 
When law me ! he jes took out a chew 

And said, "The turkey's here." 



The Lord Loves His Own 



M 



Y neighbor has lost her baby, 
The hearse is at the door; 

I know, though she's a rich lady, 
Her heart must be very sore. 

I hugged my own more closely 
For the loss across the street; 

I pity that mother, so lonely, 
Her baby was so sweet. 

I see the carriages lining 

In rows, there, over the way, 

I question then, tears shining, 
Why her baby was taken away. 

That question I could not answer. 

The mother sits there alone. . . 
Ah, hark! I have got the answer: 

"God loves, and takes his own.' 



Page sixty-four 



H 



The Roadside Well 

ER dress was an old-fashioned print of blue, 

She stood by the roadside well, 
Sweet, demure and dainty too, 

With a manner that became her well. 

Along the road a horseman came 

Riding an iron gray, 
And life was never quite the same 

To either after that day. 

She held the dipper in her hand, 

It was made of common tin, 
And neither one could understand 

How bright it grew, out and in. 

I'll ask her for a drink, thought he, 

And that will break the ice — 
While blushing red as she could be 

She filled the dipper twice. 

No water ever seemed so clear 

As this from that old well. 
'Twas perfect bliss to see her near, 

His love now he must tell. 

There they stood beneath the blue, 

A picture for any poet, 
For well he knew he loved her too 

And couldn't help but show it. 



Page sixty-five 



A 



The Roadside Well continued 

"Dear maiden will you marry me?" 

(He said it like a man), 
While she as innocent as could be 

Said, "Yes, sir, if I can." 

She put her dimpled hand in his 
And had no thought to falter, 

Thus proving that which true love is, 
That time nor fate can alter. 

Now this is all there is to say, 

My simple tale is done; 
They met each other there that day 

And each a true heart won. 

No flirting or saying, "Wait awhile," 

They sealed it with a kiss. 
She's standing near me with a smile 

While I am writing this. 



A Good Combination 

KIND word costs so little, dear, 

A smile costs even less, 
And these combined will bring good cheer 

To some soul in distress. 



Page sixty-six 



T 



Prohibition Has Come to Stay 

HERE goes a man, his nose is red ; 

His children at home are crying for bread ; 

He takes the world easy, drinks poisonons gin; 

While his poor, patient wife is growing so thin. 

The neighbors they pity and say, "It's too bad, 

Smith's children are ragged and looking so sad." 

The brewer he smiles and drives his fat horses, 
While the drunkard falls in the street as he crosses, 
And men of good sense all sit at their ease, 
And ask God to bless this great curse, if you please ; 
While the children are reared in this hotbed of sin — 
A country that flows in wine, brandy and gin. 

The groans that are rising are filling the air, 
While heartbroken women are kneeling in prayer, 
And lives are o'errunning with anguish and pain 
Because of the rule of rum's heartrending reign; 
Alas, o 'er our country the cry has gone up : 
"God keep our boys from the poison cup." 

We look at the tender, untried feet 

That pass as we go along the street, 

While we hug our little ones to our side ; 

For the stream that is flowing is deep and wide. 

When the seething waters come so near, 

Is it any wonder we shudder with fear? 



Page sixty -seven 



Prohibition Has Come to Stay continued 

Ah, ye in homes of peace tonight, 

What have ye to say of rum's sad blight; 

Of lives made wretched, hearts torn and bled, 

And hungry little ones crying for bread, 

And staggering footsteps coming to meet 

Homes where the bitter is more than the sweet? 

Too long have we watched for a rift in the cloud, 
With hearts all crushed and heads all bowed; 
But now we must rise in the strength God has given, 
And plead that our cries may pierce yon heaven, 
And show to the world we mean what we say — 
That Prohibition has come to stay. 



H 



Perfect Trust 

APPY are they who all the day 
Can on the Lord their burdens lay; 
Can look up through the mist and tears, 
And see the light ahead that cheers, 
Knowing that all these trials given 
Are but the pruning tests for Heaven ; 
Content to know God leads and lives, 
That what is best for growth He gives. 
They who have never known this trust 
Stand back and languish, as they must, 
Missing the good for every soul, 
The leaven that leaveneth the whole. 



Page sixty-eight 



D 



The Good Word Now 

ON'T wait till death has set me free 
To lay flowers on my brow; 

If you have one good word for me 
Make haste to say it now. 

I want to hear while I am living 
The best your heart can give. 

True words, kind and forgiving. 
To help me while I live. 

Don't wait till the bell is tolling 
To chant my praises, dear, 

Give me some word consoling, 
To comfort while I'm here. 

To put flowers in a pulseless hand 

Is mockery I trow; 
Don't silence love at your command 

But say the good word now. 



Page sixty-nine 



w 



Whose Mother Is It ? 

HEN mother gets too poor and old 

They don't want her around. 
They go to her, so I am told, 

And tell of a place they've found. 
They tell of porches broad and wide 

That reach around the place ; 
Where she in comfort can abide 

And wear fine caps of lace. 

Where everything is clean and nice, 

Not a particle of dirt; 
And they are willing to pay the price — 

(To make her old heart hurt). 
And then poor mother begins to shiver, 

She nearly turns to stone ; 
Forgets, almost, that God's a giver, 

She gets no love from her own. 

The birds build in the porches there, 

They warble and they sing, 
W T hile mother sits with whitened hair, 

Her love's a forgotten thing. 
Soon the empty nest hangs from the bough 

And life goes on the same. 
Thank God, dear mother's resting now 

Where love is a living flame ! 



Page seventy 



N 



Not As I Will 

OT as I will," dear Lord, I pray, 
Give me the strength to see 

That Thy way is a better way 
Than mine could ever be. 

"Not as I will," oh, make it plain 

So I can see my way 
To follow Thee through loss or gain, 

My burdens on Thee lay. 

"Not as I will," the thought is sweet, 

To leave it all with Thee, 
My will, my gifts, my all complete — 

Just what is best for me. 

"Not as I will," I am His child, 

He loves me, this I know; 
He makes me glad and reconciled, 

He calms the storms that blow. 



Page seventy-one 



A 



The Plains of Peace 

FTER all the work and trying, 
After all our grief and pain, 
There's a bright spot underlying, 
Like sunshine after rain. 

No good will He withhold us 
Who loves us all the time, 

In crucible He holds us, 

Your wayward heart and mine. 

"While we in stubborn blindness 

Cry oft as children do, 
The while His loving kindness 

Makes ways for me and you. 

It takes so long for us often 
To understand God's ways. 

He has His way our hearts to soften 
And plans all the delays. 

At last we reach the valley 
Of dear content and peace, 

The place where angels rally, 
The plains where sorrows cease. 



Page seventy-two 



I 



The New Baby 

HEARD a new noise in the house 
I never had heard before; 
It sounded like a squealing mouse 
Hidden behind the door. 

Pa's face was all aglow with smiles, 
The nurse smiled knowingly, too ; 

The neighbors all came in for miles — 
Baby was on review. 

We dressed him in his Sunday best 

Embroidered bib and all; 
The way they hauled him out of his nest 

Would make any baby squall. 

I grew indignant at them all 

For handling my baby so ; 
I ordered Pa the nurse to call 

And tell them all to go. 



Page seventy-three 



A 



What A Good Word Did 

GOOD word started out one day; 
Its mission to fulfill. 
It went where happy children play 
And made them happier still. 

And then it hurried on apace 

To a poor widow's cot; 
It brought the smiles to her poor old face 

Like sunshine in a garden plot. 

And all this time the sim grew low 

Out in the western sky. 
And still it lingered, could not go, 

It heard somebody sigh. 

And Sorrow peeped from out her door 
And whispered, "Do come here, 

My breaking heart is, oh, so sore ! 
I need a little cheer." 

It went in there though it was night, 

That little word so strong; 
It touched a pillow where, wan and white, 

A woman had lain years long. 

It brought the glow of health to her, 
Bright smiles where once were tears; 

And proved love's dear interpreter, 
Brought gladness to her years. 

If one little word can do so much 

What may not a whole lot do, 
If they start forth with a loving touch 

And tell their story true? 



Page seventy -four 



T 



Her First Love Song" 

ONIGHT when I put down the bars, 
And drive out the lowing kine, 

I'll tell my story to the stars 
And tell it all in rhyme. 

For, oh, me ! I must tell some one 
About this love I've found, 

How when the closing day is done 
I love to have him 'round. 

I know that they will never tell 

He kissed me yesterday ; 
Ah! they will keep my secret well 

And all I have to say. 

I'll tell them how my fate I met 
In life's dear winding lane; 

How Love came in with quiver set ; 
I wasn't a bit to blame. 

And, also, how he came to me, 

A ray of joy and mirth, 
Bringing his heart aflame to me, 

This kingly son of earth. 

How I, a bashful little maid, 

Just saw him passing by, 
How I, a little bit afraid, 

Looked at him rather shy. 



Page seventy-five 



Her First Love Song- continued 

This love of mine is something new, 
It's changed my life complete; 

I hear him now, he's singing too, 
It echoes across the wheat. 

I feel the thrill of a new song now 
Since my love loves me so. 

Why, every bird upon the bough 
Warbles, "I know, I know." 



F 



A Lost Thought 

ROM o'er life's ever-changing sea 

A grand thought floated out to me, 

As though an angel brought it, too, 

The music was most rare and new. 

My waiting heart thrilled with delight 
At glowing words that I should write, 
I aimed to catch them on the wing 
Then sat me down my song to sing. 

When lo ! at distance, dim and gray, 
My thought like seaweed whirled away. 
I sat all day by the changing shore 
But that dear thought returned no more. 



Page seventy-six 



s 



For the Children's Sake 

HE married me, a poor young man, 
According to the modern plan ; 
The first year was a year of bliss ; 
She never failed a true wife's kiss. 

Fool that I was to dream that she 
Could live her whole life loving me. 
The very glance of her dark eyes 
Proclaimed the depths of hidden lies. 

But I kept on unmindful yet 
Of all the pitfalls fate had set, 
My poor heart almost turned to stone- 
Hungry I sat among my own. 

Now with my coffers full of gold 
And all of life's tales almost told, 
I look, alas, with tear-dimmed eyes 
At all the ruin that round me lies. 

There is no love between us now — 
The silver rim is on my brow — 
'Tis only for the children's sake 
Life's straight appointed way we take. 



Page seventy-seven 



I 



Spring' Had Come 

NEVER knew the poppies were out 
Till I heard the children laugh and shout. 
Coming home with their hands all full 
Of the golden cups so beautiful. 

'Mid the city's noise and crowd and din, 
By four walls almost hidden in, 
I never dreamed that spring had come 
Till the children brought the flowers home. 

I placed them on the mantelpiece, 
Then sat me down for a short release, 
Gazing at them with hungry eyes ; 
The children had taken me by surprise, 
And I was delighted, like a child, 
For spring had come, and I was wild. 



O 



A Little Streak 

WHAT a beautiful streak in the sky — 

I called my neighbor too, 
And both spellbound, she and I, 
The smile on our faces grew. 

'Twas only a little streak, you know, 

But it started the day aright; 
It led us out where violets grow, 

Where angels walk in white. 

We needed no preacher nor dim church aisle 

To tell us we had a God : 
We peeped out every little while 

At coaxing sky and sod. 



Page seventy-eight 



Berrying 



H 



OW we used to hunt for berries — 

Do you remember, dear, 
How we wandered o'er the pasture 

When the days were bright and clear? 

How they hung in luscious clusters 

Enough to tempt a king? 
How glad we were to find them 

And home to mother bring? 

How the birds sang trills of gladness 

Tempting us out at morn? 
How welcome was the echo 

Of the sounding dinner horn? 

Do you recollect the grassy lane 

That stretched so far away, 
And the very corner where we sat 

To twine the flowers of May? 

Oh ! those were happy days, dear, 
When you and I were young, 

And the days we went a-berrying, 
Are in my memory hung. 

Ah, the fairy land we found then ! 

What dreams will now compare 
To the castles we built then, dear. 

In the berry-scented air? 

Ah, dear, have I been dreaming? 

Come, let me kiss your brow — 
The old place is sold to strangers 

And we buy our berries now. 



Page seventy -nine 



w 



They Are Babies Yet 

HEN the children hung about my knee, 

And life was full of care ; 
A holy joy hung over me, 

A joy we all could share. 

They'd often step upon my toes, 

Climbing up for a kiss; 
But, oh, such little slips as those 

Could never mar our bliss. 

But who on earth would ever check 
The touch of those little hands? 

The dimpled arms about my neck 
Were so many jewel bands. 

And life went on with a merry rush — 
My babies are grown up now; 

But the song in my heart will never hush, 
They are babies yet, somehow. 



Page eighty 



H 



One Mothers Heart 

E was my last dear loving boy; 
Each day he brought me some new joy. 
Our lives went on like a peaceful dream, 
His love for me the one bright gleam. 

I made such plans where he would climb, 
I loved him well, that boy of mine. 
I never thought the time would come 
When he would grace another home. 

I know 'tis the way that all birds do, 
To leave the nest and build for two. 
I must stay here in the nest alone, 
Wish them the happiness I have known. 

Though another calls him "all her joy," 
He is mine still, my boy, my boy! 
My tears drop on this as I write — 
I miss him. I miss him so tonight. 



Page eighty-one 



I 



My Babies 

MISS you, my babies, I miss you, 
Your sweet childish prattle so dear; 
I reach out my arms to caress you, 
But find only emptiness here. 

In your beds 'neath the grasses and daisies 
You know not the depth of my pain. 

I want you, my babies, my babies, 
Why sleep you out there in the rain! 

I stand by the window in waiting. 

My treasures, ah, where have you flown? 

Do you know mother's warm heart is breaking, 
My darlings, my babies, my own? 

The rain patters down on the clover, 
The robin chirps low in the wheat ; 

Sad, sad is the heart of your mother, 
As softly your names I repeat. 

I call you at morning, at evening — 
No voice answers back to my cry, 

And I sit here alone in my grieving, 
And ask why my darlings should die. 

Then out of the silence that greets me, 

A rainbow of promise appears ; 
God's love is the solace that meets me, 

And bravely I smile thru my tears. 



Page eighty-two 



w 



God's Tenderness 

E wonder sometimes at the testing 

God gives His children here. 
Why He sends us the storm before the resting 

When the beautiful blue is near. 

We wonder at the way He leads us, 

Poor, blind mortals that we be, 
When for His work down here He needs us, 

Poor, unworthy you and me. 

Every day we find some blessing 

His goodness ever sends, 
The tender grass our feet are pressing 

With His great love it blends. 

Where'er we look His tenderness 

Is shown in everything. 
Then we, how could we love Him less, 

Or fail His praise to sing? 



Page eighty-three 



o 



The Way of The Cross 

H, neighbors old and young and gray, 
Bowed down with loads of care, 

For you I'll sing a song today, 
Your load I'll help to bear. 

I know your heartache and your tears— 
(Show me where they are not), 

I want to say a word that cheers, 
L know the heart's sore spot. 

I've suffered, too, and that is how 

I know your pain so well, 
And that is why I'm anxious now 

The way of the cross to tell. 

I see you when the shadows fall 

At noon and morning time. 
It seems there is a cross for all, 

Your shoulders as well as mine. 

But, oh, they vary in size and weight, 

I wonder why 'tis so. 
Some reach way beyond Heaven's gate 

And Christ's dear message show. 

I see some trailing in the dust, 

Oh, where do they belong? 
Neglected, trampled, lost to trust, 

Their owners going wrong. 



Page eighty-four 



The Way of The Cross continued 

I see another small and neat, 

A tiny little cross. 
The owner lives across the street, 

Her soul has suffered loss. 

The only little one she had 

The Master took one day, 
And though she smiles, her eyes are sad, 

She's learned "God's will" to say. 

Another lost her only son 

When grown to man 's estate ; 
But in his loss a crown she won, 

Her cross has lost its weight. 

And others still have lost their health, 

Their plans are all laid low. 
They plead in vain for life's best wealth, 

Their cheeks have lost their glow. 

'Tis then they know their weakness best, 

No one but God can cure ; 
Yet when we show our meekness best 

He helps us to endure. 

Another was a drunkard's wife, 

The cross was hard to bear, 
And often the sharp pruning knife 

Left deep scars everywhere. 



Page eighty -five 



The Way of The Cross continued 

And yet she held that cross of woe, 
Close to her bleeding breast, 

And through it all God loved her so, 
He planned her way the best. 

Her cross grew beautiful and bright, 
No more it crushed her down ; 

The words she sang thrilled with delight, 
"No cross without a crown." 



A Little Word of Prayer 



N 



OT less of sorrow, Lord, 

I ask today of Thee, 
But strength to bear the load 

A bit more patiently. 

Not easier paths for me, 
But greater length of grace, 

That I Thy follower may be 
In every time and place. 

Not empty hands to hold, 
But plenty sheaves to bring. 

When all life's story's told 
Thy praises still to sing. 



Page eighty-six 



A 



Two Babies 

FTER the painful battle was fought 
Not one baby, but two, they brought. 
I looked at the tiny, helpless things: 
Two little angels, minus wings. 

Then all the love that heart could hold 
Rushed out both darlings to enfold. 
Oh, me ! how well I remember the bliss 
Of having those little dears to kiss. 

So much alike, you could not tell — 

And Grandma kept saying, ' ' Well, well, well ! 

The clothes you made are all too big ; 

Not one of them is worth a fig." 

But only one, God let me keep — 
Softly one morn one went to sleep ; 
But still I had a treasure left, 
My poor heart was not quite bereft. 

And now I smile through tearful eyes, 
My babies beckon from the skies. 
And some day, and it won't be long, 
I'll sing with them a holier song. 



Page eighty -seven 



If I Could Have My Way 



i 



F I could always have my way, 
Be care-free all the live-long day, 
With nothing to hinder or molest, 
I wonder if it would be best? 

To have life's sorrows vanish quite, 
My pathway ever fair and bright, 
Life's sweetest roses on my breast, 
I wonder if it would be best? 

To have the smoothest path of life, 
With no touch of the pruning knife, 
My heart says, No, it would not be 
The best or wisest thing for me. 

Some plants need more of shade than sun 
To make the perfect colors run; 
And oft sharp pruning in the spring, 
That they abundant fruit may bring. 

If this, dear Lord, be what I need, 

Prune Thou, then, though the branches bleed, 

And water with Thy grace divine 

Each tiny root that makes the vine. 

Till every stalk, and stem, and shoot, 
Has Thy inspiration at the root, 
That my life-vine may bloom, and bring 
Blest fruitage for Thy garnering. 



Page eighty-eight 



o 



Our Best 

IT, for a heart that's cheery, 
Oh, for a soul that's strong, 

To lean on when we're weary, 
When days seem sad and long. 

Oh, for a word of kindness, 
Trifles we think they are, 

They are gems of rarest fineness 
And, oh, they reach so far. 

Oh, for the good most needed 

As we go up and down, 
Were our best thought but heeded 

We all would wear a crown. 

Oh, be a cheerful liver, 
Helping where'er you go, 

Thanking the Gracious Giver 
For all the good we know. 

Oh, for a heart that's humble, 
True and good and kind, 

Oh, God, don't let us grumble, 
Help us "Our Best" to find. 



Page eighty-nine 



p 



If Wed Forgive 

LENTY of love there is, and boundless 
Still lives starve each day around us, 
Hungering for a child's sweet kiss 
And little things that make life's bliss. 

All too slow are we in giving 
What would make a life worth living. 
Hoarding, yielding such paltry dole, 
When we might help a human soul. 

Ah! the plan that God intended 
All the way with love is blended; 
We would heal hearts by the score, 
If we'd forgive, be like Him more. 



W 



The Happiest Soul 

E all love cheerful people best, 

No matter where we go, 
Be it North or South or East or West, 

Smiles will make a sad heart glow. 

Human hearts are about the same 
When it comes to love and cheer, 

It's not very hard to start the flame 
When enough of love is near. 

A sour face and hard old frown 

Will drive anyone away, 
And the happiest soul in town 

Is one who smiles today. 



Page ninety 



s 



Life's Best Pleasure 

HE brought me a rose to cheer me, 

She knew I loved them so; 
As the scent of the rose came near me 

My heart began to glow. 

With the rose she brought good feeling, 

And kindness in her heart; 
Real love for me revealing 

With all its magic art. 

As I thanked her for the flower 

With all a child's delight; 
I thought how simple a dower 

May make a sad heart light. 

For I had been feeling lonely, 

The Sabbath day was long; 
But when she brought the rose to me, 

My heart burst into song. 



Page ninety-one 



I 



Gathering Home 

HEAR the tramp of coming feet, 

Loved ones gathering home, 
To me it's music dear and sweet 
As from their work they come. 

Husband, father, brother and son, 
Each one gathering there 

After the toiling day is done, 
The joys of home to share. 

I see a father take the hand 
Of his toddling little one, 

And then it is I understand 
How beautiful love can run. 

I see the mother at the gate 

With kisses for large and small, 

As patiently their turn they wait, 
She has enough for all. 

I love to think, as I hear them come, 
Of a gathering over there, 

Where we in that celestial home 
Eternal joys will share. 



Page ninety-two 



T 



My Meadow 

HE walls of my room seemed to bind me, 

I wanted to get away 
Where the Angel of Freedom could find me 

And there in gladness stay. 

A glimpse of blue at my window 

Framing a golden glow 
Made my heart bloom out like a meadow 

Where early wild flowers grow. 

A home-loving robin in passing 

Warbled a song in her flight, 
And I like a child trespassing 

Sang, too, with all my might. 

The blooms in my meadow were blowing 
To the music of wideawake dreams, 

While my little wild flowers were throwing 
The perfume, that lives, and redeems. 



Page ninety-three 



N 



How Mother Rested 

OW I sit me down to rest, 

Not a speck of dirt; 
Every chick has left the nest, 

How my heart does hurt. 

Every day is just the same, 

Silence all about; 
Tell me not love's but a name, 

0, for a child to shout! 

Give me dirt and give me noise- 

I'd endure it all 
If I could only have my boys 

Near me when I call. 

Children never seem to think 

When they go away, 
How a mother's heart will sink 

If they go to stay. 



Page ninety -four 



Where The Praise Belongs 



o 



H, I want to be humble, Lord, 
And work where'er I may be 

And leave some comforting word 
That breathes of love and Thee. 

There are hungry hearts about us 
Here, there, and everywhere. 

Out from our lethargy rout us 
To work for Thee anywhere. 

"The fields are white for the harvest 

The laborers are few." 
Now help us, Lord, to do our best; 

And praise to Thee is due. 



Page ninety-five 



o 



Roses 

H, how I love the roses, 

The tiny buds and all, 
Their gold hearts where the bee reposes, 

Their leaves that drop and fall. 

I grew up a child among the roses, 

Happy all day long. 
No one knew better than I the posies 

That made my life a song. 

There was one rose I loved to see, 
Large as a saucer, and pink, 

It scattered its leaflets over me 
When I was too small to think. 

And there was still another 

In clusters pure and white, 
The favorite of my mother 

That gave her most delight. 

But the dear bush of my childhood 

Grew up by mother's door, 
Blooming in clusters a blood-red brood 

Where their thorns my dresses tore. 

And yet I loved those roses best 

For all the thorns they had ; 
For mother would sit by them and rest, 

Smiling to see us glad. 



Page ninety-six 



R0S6S Continued 

In that dear holy rose-lit place, 
We children at her feet, 

The roses falling about her face 
In benediction sweet. 

Oh, how I do love roses, 

Red or pink or white ! 
Though mother in Heaven reposes 

She's in this thought tonight. 



O 



The Call 

HEAR the wild birds calling, 
Calling me to the door; 
The apple blossoms falling 
All over the porch and floor. 

I drink in all this beauty — 
God made it to revel in — 

I hear no call to duty, 
I feel no touch of sin. 

These wild birds with their singing 
Do each their little part. 

So may I, my song bringing, 
Touch some poor weary heart. 



Page ninety-seven 



o 



Sunset Colors 

UT of all the pain and sorrow, 
Out of all heartache and tears ; 

I can see a bright tomorrow, 
As the edge of it appears. 

Like a cloud that drifts at sunset, 
'Mid the colors of the west; 

God's care around my life has set, 
And brought me peace and rest. 

I have trusted Him in plenty, 
I have trusted Him in woe; 

Now my life is never empty, 
More care and love I know. 

In the past He gave me patience. 
He knows now what I need; 

I find His loving recompense 
Is something sweet indeed. 

I can see the risen glory, 
Of a faith that covers all ; 

And my pen will tell the story, 
Till I hear the angels call. 



Page ninety-eight 



T 



Mother 

HE dearest songs that I could sing, 
All the eloquence I could bring 
Would never half begin to tell 
Of that dear one we loved so well. 

She knew how so to make a home ; 
She welcomed every one that come, 
Daytime or night, her love was there 
For every one of us to share. 

Her very presence brought us bliss, 
We asked no greater joy than this: 
To be near her the live-long day 
While we were happy at our play. 

She loved us, and she loved God, too, 
'Twas this that made our home life true ; 
She taught us faith at her dear knee, 
Her trust deep rooted like a tree. 

The good she taught us children then, 
Tho' we are now grown women and men, 
Runs through our lives a filtering stream 
Of which this song is but a gleam. 



Page ninety -nine 



Not Unkind, But Careless 



o 



H, the rarity of thoughtfulness 

And real kind desire, 
When a little love and kindness 

"Would start the hearthstone fire. 

We are too slow with goodly deeds, 

The ones poor souls require, 
When empty hearts with all their needs, 

Stand pleading love's desire. 

Oh, how we all do hesitate 

And say, "some time we will," 

When many outside our garden gate 
Are passing hungry still. 

Ah, well! the world isn't as heartless 
As some would have us believe. 

The trouble is we grow so careless, 
Forget the good to leave. 



Page one hundred 



w 



Content 

ITH this little view facing East 

I'm perfectly content. 
I sit and feast, and feast, and feast, 

Thankful for mercies sent. 

I can see the blue sky yonder 

And the green hills sloping down, 

The velvet grass a field of wonder 
And on every hill a crown. 

The Artist who made the pictures 
Knew just the way to do, 

So that we poor, needy creatures 
Could revel in the view. 

While here I sit in the sunshine, 

A mother growing old, 
Thank God for His dear love divine, 

'Tis strong to keep and hold. 



Page one hundred one 



G 



Pass Me On 

OOD-BY now friends, you've read me through; 

Don't hide me quite away, 
But pass me on to some one who 

Still struggles on the way. 

The world is wide, and love is sweet; 

So pass it down the road, 
And reach a hand to those you meet 

Who have a heavier load. 

"We cannot live for self alone 

And claim the best there is. 
The heart where others' love is grown 

Will find no end of bliss. 



THE END 



Page one hundred two 



B£;1§19 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



AUG 22 WO 



